


Sticky Sticky Sweet

by NaughtySammyBoy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ass to Mouth, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Food Play, Hair-pulling, NSFW aesthetic, Rough Sex, Smut, Temperature Play, Truckloads of strong language, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, blowjob, phew here we go, some spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 19:52:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9087781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtySammyBoy/pseuds/NaughtySammyBoy
Summary: You and Dean set up shop in a motel parking lot on a hot summer's day, enjoying your first day off in months. Dean ends up getting excited by more than just the sizzling sun.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **PSA:** Please, ladies, do not—I repeat: **_do not_** —put sweet, sticky, sugary _anything_ near or in your woman business. This is purely fiction and yeast infections do not exist in this universe, but they very much do exist in ours. So please, mix food with sex responsibly and at your own discretion. I am in no way responsible if you chose to reenact this with a partner and end up getting a YI and a big yellow pill for said affliction lmao js 

Dean tries to pretend he doesn’t notice—but _fuck_ —it’s damn near _pornographic_. He acts like he’s still reading the Sports Illustrated in his hands, lounged back in an old plastic patio chair that squeaks every time he shifts in even the slightest way, with the hot summer sun beating down on his still winter-kissed skin. His curious eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, further helping to make it look like he’s _not_ currently staring over the top of the magazine that had already lost his interest completely.  
  
You sit directly opposite him in a matching chair, dressed in only a simple black bikini with your hair pulled up into a messy bun, sunglasses resting on the bridge of your nose as you mindlessly scroll through your phone. _That_ sight alone is enough to make Dean chub up in his faded swim trunks, but it’s not what’s got him fighting off a stiffness that threatens to make itself totally obvious.  
  
It’s what you’re _doing_ —with your _mouth_.  
  
You’d picked up a box of Bomb Pop Popsicles from the store in efforts to help fight off the sudden heat wave, and Dean hadn’t thought much of it. Until of course, he’s watching you suck and lick on one so damn obscenely he can’t _help_ but state. He watches, terribly enraptured, as your pink tongue chases the dripping trails all the way up to the tip, your plump lips wrapping around it to push the sweet ice into your mouth before you slowly—so goddamn slowly Dean honestly thinks it’s happening in slow motion—pull it back out again, your plush lips glistening in the sun before you lick them clean.  
  
Dean huffs an indignant sound before tenting the Sports Illustrated over his lap, trying to hide his fully hardened cock before you look up to see it straining in his bottoms. He’s gone a few months without a decent lay so he’s a little on edge, and your little tease show is no fucking help where his dick’s concerned. All he can think about is you down on your knees in front of him, eagerly sucking him off like he’s the best flavor around, all sloppy and gagging for it. Or maybe you sprawled out on top of him with his entire cock down your throat as he eats your cunt like a freshly made ice cream sundae.  
  
He’s pulled from his thoughts when you sit up and swing your legs around to perch on the edge of your chair, slipping on your flip-flops before standing up, the clean wooden popsicle stick between your teeth so you can chew at it a little. “I’m gonna grab another,” you tell him, pushing your sunglasses up to rest them atop your head so you can squint down at him, “You want one?”  
  
“Nah,” Dean clears his throat awkwardly, fingers splaying out overtop the glossy magazine in his lap, the pages crumpling in his hands as his dick throbs like it’s got its own heartbeat.   
  
“Suit yourself,” you shrug before turning to retreat back into the motel room, and _god_ , your bikini bottoms have ridden up in the best way and have left _very_ little to the imagination, leaving Dean ogling your ass as you walk away and disappear behind the paint-chipped door.   
  
“You fuckin’ traitor,” Dean hisses down at his lap when his mini-Dean jumps like an excited dog who being teased by a big, juicy bone. He hasn’t had _this_ big a lack of self-control since he was ten and got his first boner (after actually understanding what the fuck it meant) because he found his dad’s stash of skin mags. Damn, he still remembers all the big tits and hairless pink pussies like it was yesterday.   
  
Although, after seeing you sporting a size-too-small bikini, ass and breasts jiggling enticingly as you move, and how your mouth works a tasty treat—Dean’s pretty confident in saying those broads ain’t got jack shit on you. Now if he could only quit being a wuss and go show you how serious he means it.  
  
When you don’t come back after ten minutes, Dean starts to wonder what’s taking you so long. Out of pure curiosity, he pulls himself up out of the lawn chair and ow-ow-ow’s his way across the hot pavement of the parking lot barefoot—because Dean Winchester doesn’t wear flip-flops, and boots would’ve looked laughably ridiculous with his swim trunks. And holy hell if when Dean pushes open the motel door, you’re not laid up on one of the unmade beds with a hand shoved inside your bikini bottoms and a fresh patriotic-colored popsicle sliding back and forth between your lips.  
  
“Was wonderin’ when you were gonna come lookin’ for me,” you say after popping the ice free, turning your head to look at him with a smirk curling up your lips and your hair flowing beneath your head where you’ve tugged it free from the bun. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that stiffy you were sportin’ out there, Winchester,” your voice purrs as you trial the tip of the popsicle down the center of your chest, through the valley between your breasts, and finally down to circle your belly button before sliding it back into your mouth, leaving behind a sticky wet trail that makes Dean itch to lick it up as he stands speechless at the door, hand twitching where it still holds the knob and mouth parted in desire.  
  
“You looked so fuckin’ cute all flustered and trying to hide it,” you giggle sweetly as you pull your hand out of your bikini and pull yourself up to your knees on the mattress, eyes dark with lust when you look at him and say, “But we both know you’re anything but cute, ain’t you, baby.“   
  
“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” Dean says to himself as you climb off the bed and slink towards him, all sweet swinging hips and slow, tantalizing steps as you pull at your bottom lip with your teeth. He blindly fumbles behind him to push closed the door that he’d left open in shock when you gracefully fall to your knees before him, your hands going straight for the tie on his trunks to pull it loose and tug them down all in quick fashion, humming approvingly when his cock springs free and sticks straight out, hard as a rock and glistening at the head with smeared precome.  
  
Dean sighs at the relief it brings him to finally be bared, no longer struggling to contain himself behind polyester and nylon mesh. He looks down at you through heavily-hooded eyes as you part your lips and draw him into your hot little mouth without preamble, making him groan long and deep in his throat as he tangles his fingers in your hair to pull it back away from your face and into a messy makeshift ponytail. Your eyes drift shut in delight, your fingernails leaving crescent shapes on his thick upper thighs as you slowly work him inch by inch into your mouth, still pushing on when he hits the back of your throat, damn near making Dean shout when you gag around him.  
  
He’s left enthralled as you suck, lick, and fuck him with your mouth, not batting a single lash as slick spit trickles from your hardworking mouth down to your chest and on the floor between your spread knees. He feels like crying for joy when you push him all the way down your throat until your nose-deep in the hair at the base of his cock, pulling back and off him for a few seconds before repeating it again and again, leaving long strings of spit connecting the tip of him to your tongue every time your mouth frees him.   
  
If there’s one thing Dean Winchester’s a sucker for, it’s a sloppy blowjob by a woman not afraid to get messy and have fun with it—all while blowing his fucking mind. And he’s pretty sure you’ve successfully sucked and sexily giggled your way all the way up to the number one spot on the _Greatest Blowjobs I’ve Ever Received_ list Dean keeps up with in his mind. Although, right now, he can’t really be bothered to recall any of the other ones because fuck, you’re going for the gold here—and _winning_ , goddammit.  
  
Dean’s balls draw up before he knows it and his knees threaten to buckle right under him, fiery pleasure scorching within him. “Fuck'imma come,” he slurs in warning, eyes fighting to stay open and watch you, his fingers tightening in your hair as you pull off him and quickly stripe his cock with your hand, the purpling crown resting on your outstretched tongue as you look up at him with beautifully pleading eyes—just _begging_ him to come in your mouth. “H'ohmyfucking _fuck_ ,” he breathes out heavily when that winding coil finally snaps, leaving thick stripes of white on your tongue in its wake and his hips twitching with the strongest aftershocks he’s ever experienced in his life.  
  
Dean’s one hundred percent sure that if he died right now, he wouldn’t even care, because he’s so sated and rubbery and you look so sexy playfully wiggling your come-coated tongue at him, giggling after you’ve pulled it back into your mouth to swallow everything he’s just given you. Yeah, Dean would be _just fine_ with _that_ being the last thing he sees before eternal darkness.   
  
But holy hell if he isn’t glad to be alive when you stand back up, strip your entire bikini off, and fall back into bed on your hands and knees, your ass to him and your legs spread far enough that he can _see_ how wet you’ve become just by sucking his cock. Then, he feels like he’s died and gone to heaven when it’s his turn to fall to his knees on the floor next to bed, his big hands reaching out to grab around your thighs to pull your pussy back onto his face, your high-pitched squeal of delight music to his ears as he dives right into eating you like a hot meal.  
  
“Fuck yeah,” you whimper, spine curving down and hips rolling back to get as close as possible to his plump lips and strong, thick tongue, “Make me come, baby.“   
  
A light bulb suddenly bursts to light above Dean’s head, making him pull away from you completely, panting and smirking devilishly as he jumps to his feet. He hears your sounds of objection, sees the way you look back at him with a pout, loves the way you wiggle your ass in efforts to entice his mouth back into play. He just keeps smirking as he moves towards the fridge in the room, opening the freezer to steal one of the popsicles from your stash, returning to you as your brows draw together in confusion.  
  
Dean tears open the white plastic wrapping, grabbing the wooden stick and letting the trash fall to the floor carelessly. He again takes his place behind you on his knees, quietly sizing up the situation and deciding on his next move. He pushes the sweet treat between his lips, humming at the delicious flavor that covers his tongue and narrowing his eyes in thought.  
  
"Ugh, what’re you do—oh!” You suddenly shriek when Dean slides the cold red tip of the popsicle between your warm, swollen folds, making you shiver in surprise and press your forehead down into the mattress as you grip the rumpled sheets. Cool, fruity juice trickles between your slick lips and around your pulsating clit, making you gasp and whimper in need. Dean watches with intrigued eyes as he slides the sweet treat back up, using his free hand to grab one of your plump ass cheeks to spread them apart before swirling the slowly melting ice around your puckered second entrance, his cock swelling back to life as you moan so sticky sweet for him.  
  
When Dean teases your empty pussy with the tip, you’re a mess—honest to goodness begging him to just _fuck_ you with the damn thing. And boy, does he ever. He slowly pushes the cold shaft into you just an inch or two, watching the way you flutter around it and curl your toes in response. He leans in to a seal his mouth around your asshole, licking and probing at it as he uses a thumb to quickly rub your clit, making you scream in bliss and babble more dirty words that make him ache all over.  
  
You come like a hurricane, quick and beautifully violent, the chill of the popsicle inside you and the heat of Dean’s mouth on you further making you a blithering mess of yourself as you drown in earthshattering pleasure. Dean listens and watches, helplessly captivated by every single second of your orgasm as he works you through it, gently pulling the popsicle free to shove two thick fingers deep within your chilled walls to warm them back up. He reaches forward, slipping the sweet ice between your slack lips and watching the way you suckle at it lazily, eyes wet with tears of pure ecstasy as he quickly wiggles his fingers inside you, making your hips rock and your whimpers to grow more and more needy.  
  
Dean eventually rises to his feet, pulling the popsicle from your mouth and letting it fall to the floor beside him without caring that the underpaid maid is going to be pissed. He presses one knee into the mattress, planting his other foot on floor and grabbing one of your hips while holding his cock by the base. He slides the glistening head between your puffy lips, watching the way you use what strength you have left to pull your upper body up and prop it up with your hands flat on the mattress. You look at Dean over your shoulder, lips parted and eyes begging once again as you rock your hips back just a bit to encourage him.  
  
“Fuckin’ give it to me, Dean,” you practically sob, nearly delirious with the desire to have him inside you, “I can take it. Gimme ev'ry gorgeous fuckin’ inch, baby.” He gives way to a deep groan, one that makes his chest vibrate as he pushes all the way up inside you, growling at the stretch and immediate accommodation of your hot, slick cunt.  
  
This—he sighs heavily— _this_ is what he’s been fucking waiting for since he first walked in and saw you sprawled out on the bed, amorous and willing. Your words rattle around in his head. _I can take it_. He sets an impossibly fast, rough pace, hips slapping right against your ass with every harsh stroke forward. _I can take it._ He slides one hand through your hair, twisting the silky strands around and between his fingers and tugging your head back to press a dirty kiss to your slack lips. _I can take it._ His free hand mercilessly cracks down against your ass, the sharp, loud slap ringing into the room and bouncing off the paper-thin walls.  
  
“Yes! Yes! _Yes!_ ” You cry through the painful pleasure, taking everything Dean gives you without a single complaint in mind—other than the fact that he’s absolutely demolished any other man’s hope to give you the best fuck you’ve ever had, which isn’t _really_ a complaint now that you’ve had few milliseconds to think it over. “God, yes,” you whimper against his mouth, ignoring the twinge of pain in your side from the awkward angle, “Fuck me like the dirty girl I am, Dean.”  
  
_Fuckin’ hell_ , Dean thinks, _why didn’t I fuck this impossibly beautiful woman sooner?_ “You _are_ a dirty girl, aren’t you,” he growls in your ear, snapping his hips in a particularly hard thrust as he harshly slaps your other cheek, leaving a prominent red handprint on your bouncing flesh. “Teasing me with those damn popsicles, then sucking my cock like you were starved for it. Now look at you,” he chuckles carnally, tugging your hair a bit, “Lettin’ me fuck you silly.”  
  
“Mmmyes!” You gasp back, fisting the scratchy sheets beneath you as you feel a second—more intense than the first—orgasm began to reach the precipice, all heat and fierce power. Sweat sticks to every inch of you and Dean, your bodies slipping and sliding against one another’s as you both sing melodies of different tempos and compositions. Your breathy moans and whimpers intermingle with Dean’s deep growls and grunts, no doubt making the people in the neighboring motel rooms wonder if it’ll ever fucking stop.  
  
Dean stupidly hopes not.  
  
He quickly pushes you down onto your stomach, getting both knees outside your thighs and shoving his fists into the mattress as he pounds down into your fluttering, weeping pussy, the slick squelch of it making it all the more filthy. He falls to the side on a forearm, shoving his free hand underneath you to get it between your sweat-slick thighs, his calloused fingers rubbing at your swollen clit in quick circles. “Fuckin’ come for me, Y/N,” he growls in your ear as you cry and moan for him, hair sticking to your forehead and getting in your mouth from the frenzied way Dean’s giving it to you.  
  
You wail when you come, probably not looking the prettiest as you pant wildly and writhe beneath Dean like it’s all you know how to do. But to him, he’s never seen a more perfect orgasm from a woman—just the pure, raw bliss and pleasure that you exude and the way you pulse around his throbbing cock makes his hips falter as heat sizzles up his spine. And _shit_ if he doesn’t experience the most powerful orgasm he’s ever felt, all primal need and sweat-sticky urgency as he empties the biggest load he’s ever spilled deep inside you, cock weeping so beautifully for you as he rocks through it, letting lose a less than manly whimper that he’ll deny if you ever ask about it.  
  
When Dean gently pulls out and falls down onto the mattress as you flip over onto your back beside him, the only sounds that fill the room are both of your heavy, uneven breathing patterns and the rattling roar of the old A/C unit that blows out a decent enough amount of cool air. Both you and Dean stare up at the disgusting popcorn ceiling above you, sated, sticky, and in disbelief that what was supposed to be a quick little suck-and-fuck turned into a full-fledged porn flick remake.  
  
“Did you, uh, really fuck me with a popsicle or did I imagine that?” You pant, snorting out a laugh at the thought.  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” Dean nods, letting his eyes falls shut in incredulity, “That is a thing that just happened.”  
  
“Well, that’s definitely _one_ way to cool down."   



End file.
